


you're my best friend, i'll love you forever

by abigneignenn



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends to Lovers, But really they are just idiots in love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Human AU, Multi, Mutual Pining, So buckle up folks, there is a LOT of tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigneignenn/pseuds/abigneignenn
Summary: "You're my best friend, Lu," Matthew whispers softly, intertwining their fingers when there is no one but stars over their heads. "You know that,right?"And, truly, shedoes. She feels it in her bones every time he looks at her with gentle, gentle eyes and nothing but affection on his face; she feels it when he calls her first thing in the morning to tell a joke he saw on the net and thought of her or when he anticipates her moods better than anybody else.Lucie knows they are best friends, Lucie knows they areforever— what Lucie doesn't know is that when did these words stop bringing her any semblance of joy.or modern best friends au
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood, Ariadne Bridgestock/Anna Lightwood, Cordelia Carstairs/James Herondale, Fairondale, Matthew Fairchild & Lucie Herondale, Matthew Fairchild/Lucie Herondale
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	you're my best friend, i'll love you forever

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you amazing @grxceblqckthxrn and @alittlestitiouss on tumblr who proofread and helped to improve this story! I love you<3

“I’m going to show him what happens when you mess with Herondales.”

Lucie is livid. She knows this because her heartbeat is racing, her vision blackens and soon there isn't going to be any teeth left from grinding them. She marches to the schoolyard with her head held high, daring anyone to question her presence at year 6 recess — they don't. They still follow her with curious eyes, and while normally she would be worrying if there was something on her face, today is no usual day. Today she has purpose in her stride and a target on her mind. And there he is — a lanky boy, surrounded by gaping children who look like they’ve been told that demon pox is a real illness.

Naive fools. Lucie has known this since she was five — someone ought to tell Dad that he shouldn't leave his books lying around in a house full of small kids.

Her nose scrunches and she wonders again what everyone sees in this smiling kid. She remembers him from family gatherings — always the center of attention, always boasting and full of pride.

Matthew Fairchild.

Golden boy of the Alicante Academy, second son of Charlotte Fairchild — who, if she were to repeat after her father, is the best prime minister their country has ever seen — the teachers' absolute favorite. And apparently, based on the latest turns of events, a nasty worm who picks on Jamie.

Lucie doesn't care that James is her big brother; she knows what others don't: James is a tender soul, a delicate flame, waiting to be smothered by the weakest gust of wind. Lucie herself is a forest fire ready to burn everything that threatens her loved ones.

She steps forward, squaring her shoulders, — and a warm palm clutches her upper arm, jerking her back.

"Lulu, what are you doing?" hisses James. "I told you to let it go. You can't argue with every idiot who looks at me the wrong way.”

She could — but Lucie doesn't tell him that.

"Matthew isn’t just anyone," she cooly points out instead, waiting for his answer. There is none — Jamie can't deny it and they _never_ lie to each other. Sometimes Lucie thinks that she doesn’t deserve James — James, who keeps trying to be her common sense even when she doesn't need him to; who doesn’t fawn over her and treats her like an equal; who lends her his beloved books as if they are diamonds — and something in her softens. She gently unclasps his hand, whispering, "I am not afraid of him," for James’s benefit.

 _We never lie to each other,_ Lucie reckons, _but at times exceptions have to be made_. Because some part of her _is_ intimidated, her stomach sinking with alarming anticipation.

 _Sometimes, when I have to do something I don’t want to do, I pretend I’m a character from a book._ Lucie remembers her father's words and thinks of Boadicea — of brave and powerful Boadicea, who charged into battle ahead of everyone for her country and people. It's her favorite bedtime story, and her parents exchange amused glances and grin at each other with stars in their eyes whenever she asks them to read it for her. Lucie doesn't mind — their love story is her second preferred tale, after all.

 _If I may hesitate then my inner Boadicea will not,_ she thinks, making her way to Matthew.

He is flanked from every side by loyal followers, but all Lucie can see is Christopher and Thomas. She feels a surge of irritation, remembering the other reason for the prickle in her chest: the Lightwood boys were Lucie and James's best friends growing up — it's hardly a surprise, as all of them are related by blood — and now they trail after Matthew like two shadows.

She doesn’t like to think of herself as impulsive, but perhaps she is. Because now, standing in front of him, Lucie doesn't know what happens next — how is she supposed to attract his attention? Does she need to do something?

Turns out, she doesn't even have to say anything: Matthew shifts his gaze and their eyes meet. Lucie looks him in the face for the first time in her life and–

 _Oh_. His eyes aren't _black_.

Lucie doesn't know why this little detail throws her off balance, but it does. Last night, as she laid in her bed and envisioned their encounter, she thought of him as a boy with dark irises, cruel, and hollow, and unforgiving.

Matthew's eyes twinkle in the afternoon sun, lighting his face from within. They are a lovely shade of green, so deep that from a distance it can be easily passed for brownish-black. For Lucie, his eyes resemble a haunted forest with the hidden promise of a reward to anyone bold enough to look for it — and in the moment, she feels bold.

Lucie is reminded of an old English tale and a line that is engraved in her memory for some reason. _"Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,"_ it lulls, and she hopes that her ending will be better that of Mr. Fox's brides.

Lucie imagines herself as a little insect under a magnifying glass that is his vision, and wonders what Matthew sees when he looks at her. After a moment — or maybe several minutes, she isn’t sure how long they’ve been staring at each other — his lips stretch into his trademark smile, and she is struck by how radiant it is when she is the one on the receiving end. "Hullo! Herondale's sister, yes?"

Her own surname acts like a blast of ice-cold water.

James. _Right_. Her reason for being here.

Lucie feels a bitter taste at the tip of her tongue, with dread identifying it as shame. _What a Boadicea she is._ Boadicea would never get distracted by a pretty face. She wants to find excuses for her behavior, but there aren't any — and Lucie is hot all over her body. She is angry at herself for standing there like a shell shocked idiot, but mostly, she is angry at Matthew, and his stupid eyes, and his ability to make her flustered with four words.

Lucie seethes, and maybe some part of her does feel bad when his gaze shifts from beaming to startled, but she shoos this emotion away. "Why do you hate my brother so much?” she asks bluntly.

"I– What?" Matthew sputters, and disbelief courses through her. There he is, blinking like a wronged angel as if Lucie is the villain of their story when the reality is ironically different.

She isn't proud of her following words — and if her mother heard them, she would never live down her disappointment — but Lucie desperately longs for Matthew (and the uncomfortable flutters in her stomach when she looks at him) to disappear, hence her saying, "I knew you were rude, but for you to be hard of hearing as well! My brother, James. Does it ring a bell?"

"Are you his guard dog?" Matthew laughs. His eyes shine with wicked glee, and Lucie thinks of dark faeries who steal human hearts with saccharine vows and a dagger under their sleeve.

She feels a steady presence behind her shoulder and stiffens. Matthew moves his gaze to James, and his smile takes on a teasing edge. "Ah, Jamie, there you are! I was looking forward to our battle of wits, but two Herondales are better than one, I suppose."

"Lu, let's go," James tugs her back.

"No, I’d like to know what he has against you “she says, glaring at Matthew. "Is it that James doesn't worship the ground you walk on?"

"What I have against him?" he repeats, an unreadable expression flickering on his face before it morphs back into his mocking smile.

"Don't be a twit," Lucie scoffs. "Why do you pick on James?"

"It's quite funny, isn’t it? You say _I'm_ rude, and yet you stomped here and started calling me names." Matthew grins at her, and she notices that his smile is crooked to the left. Lucie wishes it made him look uglier, but he only comes off as endearing, more like a golden puppy than a human. It is rather unfair that someone that beautiful can be so vile.

"I have a reason for that!"

"Which is what? Being a pain in the butt?" She hears someone snicker and feels a rising flush in her face.

Thomas — technically, he isn't her cousin, but Christopher's, who is related to her, but they grew up together and it's not like she cares for specifics — steps forward, lifting his palms in the air, "Maybe we all should–"

"Shut up, Thomas!" They bark at the same time.

"Lucie,–" starts James, but Matthew interrupts him.

"And really, what were you going to do, prancing over here like Nemesis? It's not as if you can beat me up or anything," he sneers.

His words catch her off guard. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Trust me, I know it's hardly believable," Matthew says, deliberately flicking his eyes up and down her body, "but you are a girl. Your lot isn't capable of violence. Go back to your dolls, love." No one whispers anymore — there is only a morbid silence around them and bloody crescents on her palms from balling her fists too hard

How dare he insinuate that she's incapable of punching someone? She's– she's Boadicea!

James steps closer to her, softly murmuring, "Lulu, _cariad_ , he's not worth it, let's go." And she thinks that maybe he _is_ right, that maybe she should be the bigger person and leave this petty idiot and his stupid remarks behind her–

"Yes, _Lulu_ , listen to your brother," Matthew goads, smiling patronizingly at her — and something inside Lucie snaps.

She doesn't remember the action itself. What she does recall nearly seven years later is a growing ringing in her ears, threatening to drown out Jamie's voice, hot wrath, and Matthew Fairchild, stumbling to the ground with both hands clutching the middle of his face. Her knuckles hurt, and Lucie’s last thought is that they never write in books how painful it is to actually hit someone.

She also remembers the aftermath.

"Lucie Herondale and Matthew Fairchild, what is going on here! I'm taking both of you to the headmaster immediately!" yells Tatiana Lightwood, their maths teacher, from behind, and Lucie knows that her mum won't be happy. She doesn't worry about her dad — he will act tough and strict at first, but later send her a conspiratorial wink and sneak extra chocolate to her at night.

And while Mrs. Lightwood screeches, and someone — probably Thomas, it’s _always_ Thomas — helps Matthew up, Lucie tries her best not to smile.

***

_Matthew Fairchild doesn't know what hit him so many years ago._

Except _, Matthew thinks, lighting up at his favorite childhood memory,_ that maybe he does _. He vividly remembers little Lucie Herondale with bright blue eyes and his younger version baiting her to take a swing. What he doesn’t remember, to be exact, is a minute before her eyes blazed up like two flaming torches and him on the cold grass, clutching his bloody nose._

_***_

While they are being led to the headmaster, Matthew hears angry mumbling and strains his ears, hoping to catch her words.

"Boadicea... warrior queen... would be proud of me... need to teach stupid boys a lesson..." Lucie mutters in a half-breath.

Once, when Matthew was nine, he had to put out a fire on his father's head, and even then he felt less unsure of his actions. Lucie Herondale showed up like a thunderstorm with no mercy and swept him off his feet — in the truest sense of that phrase! — turning his world upside down. She is a tiny thing, hardly reaching up to his chin — and clearly, it doesn’t matter to her, because she keeps shooting him glares like everything is entirely his fault, and _it’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?_ She's not the one with blood dripping down her pristine white shirt.

"You do know that she was defeated and believed to poison herself?" Matthew absentmindedly cuts her off, and Lucie stops, tilting her head with a silent question. "Boadicea. She led the uprising, yes, but it failed, and then she..."

He finds his voice trailing off because it's clear that Lucie doesn't want history lessons — judging by her face, the only thing she's wishing for him is a gruesome death. Matthew nearly takes offense at her unwillingness to speak, opening his mouth to retort, when Tatiana Lightwood nudges them from behind — and she is the second scariest thing in the world after his mum — so he obediently seals his lips and keeps going.

Matthew doesn't tell her she’s not Boadicea. Boadicea was a human queen — courageous and just, but still an existing person. Lucie, in turn, is full of divine light, threatening to pour out of her in a golden flare.

 _Lucie Herondale is no mortal,_ Matthew thinks. She is Andraste, the Celtic deity of victory and war, to whom Boadicea was praying, as she rushed into battle.

***

Tick, _Tock_. Tick, _Tock_.

It’s been forty minutes since Mr. Bridgestock left for urgent matters, and she is _bored_. Lucie had already counted the number of books in his office — 36, and she’s read a third of them! — played “I spy” in her head, and thought of several stories for Cordelia. They’re an enthralling affair of true love and betrayal, bloodlust and cruel bargains, and Lucie sighs wistfully, missing her notebook. And if all of them end with the death of a certain blond fool, it’s simply a miraculous coincidence.

Sunlight flows through the blinds, highlighting specks of dust in the air. Each one gleams like a mother of pearl, and she knows that in better circumstances she would think of this room as beautiful. It reeks of untold tales and secrets, reminding her of a writer’s lair, where poems are born and odes are sung — and Lucie detests Matthew for ruining one more thing in her life. The list is becoming too long.

It’s not the most entertaining task, counting seconds that is, but it’s either that or thinking about what an insufferable toad Matthew Fairchild is and how _satisfying_ it was to sock him in the nose; and if she had another possibility, she would definitely use it, consequences be damned, — and Lucie can’t afford anymore trouble, so she picks the first option, keeping her eyes on the clock.

Tick, _Tock_. Tick, _Tock_.

There’s a loud noise in the hallway and the door bursts open, revealing both of her parents. Dad walks in first, exclaiming, “Lulu, did you really punch some poor sod?” And she wants to reply, honestly, but her mother barges into the office like an avenging angel on the day of judgment.

“ _Lucie Elizabeth Herondale_ ,” Oh, she is in _trouble_ , “do tell, why is it that I’m having a pleasant morning when someone from school calls to report that my kid got into a fight? And not my eleven-year-old boy, but his younger sister who wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

Da likes to say he fell in love with Mam because of her loving and gentle soul, her willingness to see the best in people — in that way she and Jamie are the same — but gentle isn’t the word Lucie would use to describe her mother now. She is the epitome of indignation, pacing around the room with furrowed brows and a crease in her forehead. “And who is the other-,” her gaze stills on the furthest corner and she stops in her tracks, seeing the blond boy for the first time. “Matthew?”

“Good morning, Aunt Tessa!” he enthusiastically waves from his chair with the sweetest smile and Lucie huffs. _What a suck-up._ “I must say, you look absolutely lovely today.”

Her mom’s cheeks redden and Lucie wants to bang her head on the wall until it turns out that today is a fever dream, conducted by her sick imagination, and no, she isn’t actually sitting in the office where Matthew Fairchild tries to charm her Mam. Successfully, by the way.

At least, Dad is still on her side.

 _Or not_ , she surly notes when Matthew asks him about his upcoming book, and they start talking about people's ignorance regarding demon pox. _Traitors, all of them._

“Prime Minister, you shouldn’t have concerned yourself!” Mr. Brigstock’s brittle voice echoes from the corridor. “We contacted your spouse, assuring him that your son is quite alright and-”

“My husband isn’t here — I am,” Charlotte Fairchild coldly replies, walking into the room.

She is used to seeing Charlotte as the prime minister of their country — always with impeccable speeches and not a hair out of place — and it’s hard to remember how petite the other woman actually is. She stands only a head taller than Lucie herself, all delicate bones and straight posture, and yet her presence fills the room with an aura of quiet authority. Something in Charlotte Fairchild makes one want to pledge their loyalty and follow every order that comes out of her mouth — an irreplaceable quality while leading a country, Lucie must admit.

Charlotte’s eyes dart all over the room until they settle on Matthew with his toothy grin, and the troubled look disappears from her features. Only then does she notice the other people standing in the chamber, and her brows raise in surprise. “Will, Tessa, what are you doing here?”

“Wouldn’t we like to know,” pipes her father with a shrug of his shoulders, and three pairs of eyes bore into Mr. Bridgestock.

“You see, there was an incident,” he begins, sweating profoundly, when the door swings open for the third time and Lucie lets out a soft groan. _This day will never end._

Tatiana Lightwood steps in, bearing the best imitation of an old hag with a sinister look on her face. “What Mr. Bridgestock wanted to say,” she sharply cuts him off, ”is that a horrible mishap has happened because of your daughter, Mr. Herondale.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Herondale,” her dad cheekily corrects. “Please, don’t forget about my wonderful wife.”

Mrs. Lightwood glares at Lucie’s father with pure hatred in her eyes; and if Lucie previously thought that there might be a reasonable solution to their problem, now there’s no hope left. _Trust Dad to worsen the situation._

“Earlier Matthew and Lucie got into a verbal spat, which ended in her hitting him in the face. I wonder who she gets it from,” Tatiana adds with a clear quip.

“Lulu, is that true?” her father asks sternly, but mouths “nice strike” when no one is watching. James may have inherited their dad’s looks, but Lucie is the one who shares his fiery personality.

“Yes! But only because-,” she starts.

“Lucie Herondale, I am utterly disappointed in you,” Ma intervenes, shaking her head. “We always talk about how violence is never the answer to the problem. You have to apologize to Matthew right now.”

“But, _mom_ -,” Lucie tries again.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into her, usually Lucie is an angel,” her mother completely ignores her pleas, turning to the other woman.

“Tessa, don’t worry, I’m certain there is a logical explanation,” Charlotte Fairchild kindly says. “Besides, I don’t think Matthew is seriously hurt.”

“Can anybody listen to me for one minute?” Lucie half-screams, but it appears to be fruitless, because everyone is engrossed in their own talks and there’s a chatter from every corner, merging together in one illegible sound.

“Lucie, apologize to Matthew,” repeats Ma to her left.

“Stop criticizing my daughter,” argues Dad from somewhere.

“In all my life I have never seen a girl who behaves like that,” hotly continues Mrs. Lightwood, and for the first time today Lucie wants to cry.

She feels overlooked (she despises this sensation with burning passion), worthless and frustrated, but most of all Lucie feels wronged. She has a clear picture in her head — she is going to get punished, while Matthew comes out of this situation untainted and innocent — and it’s such an unjust outcome, because he is to blame as much as she is, and _doesn’t it even matter that she had a noble purpose in mind?_ Her parents always talk about fighting for what you believe in, but the one time she does exactly that-

“It’s not her fault.” _Wait, what?_

Lucie freezes, barely breathing, and thinks that she imagined his voice, coming from the corner, because there’s no way in hell it could actually happen. She glances at him and Matthew sheepishly grins when their eyes meet. There’s a strong determination on his face, and Lucie notes how Charlotte-like he looks in that moment, lips pursed in a silent dare and shoulders squared. Everyone is quiet now, waiting for further explanation, and he continues on, “I mocked her, saying that girls aren’t capable or good enough to fight; that they don’t have a violent streak or bloodlust in their veins — Lucie proved me wrong. She’s not at fault, and I’m the one who has to apologize to her, not the other way around. I let stereotypes cloud my judgment, and for that I am sorry.”

***

 _Matthew doesn’t know why he says what he says — it’s just that one moment Lucie’s eyes are full of defiance and heavenly fire, and the next minute they are brimming with unshed tears. He has a funny feeling in his stomach, as if something has gone terribly wrong in the span of several seconds, and he can’t sit idly by while they blame her for everything that happened. (See, Lucie,_ he _isn’t a hypocrite. He acknowledges they both have their own share of guilt.)_

_She opens and closes her mouth before finally taking a deep breath with a blank look on her face, and some part of Matthew feels giddy at making the great Lucie Herondale speechless. He doesn’t know her that well, but something tells him that it’s not a common occurrence._

_He doesn’t care that a lecture on gender equality will be waiting for him at home, or that he isn’t going to have good grades in maths anytime soon — Mrs. Lightwood keeps glaring at him as if he spoiled her hour of glory, so that’s out of the question — or that Charles will make fun of him for being hit by a girl._

_Matthew doesn’t care about any of that, because for the first time Lucie looks at him with something other than anger, and for now it’s enough for him._

***

They are waiting out in the hall for their parents to finish up while Lucie questions everything her life has come to stand for. With Matthew it was always a steady knowledge of their roles — he, her brother’s bully, and she, James’s defender. Now the line is blurred.

It was easy to hate Matthew who condescendingly smiled at her. It’s not that easy to hate Matthew who took all the blame on himself and defended her actions.

Lucie doesn’t know what to feel about _that_ Matthew.

“I don’t hate James,” he blurts out a mere meter away from her. “You asked why I picked on him, but the truth is, I never realized I was picking on him in the first place. I wouldn’t consciously hurt James at any time, because...” Matthew stills, hands fidgeting, “because all I ever wanted is to become his friend.”

“But- but you flaunt your ‘fans’ in his face every day?” Lucie furrows her eyebrows.

He stands in one spot with his face turned to the floor and doesn’t answer her for a good minute. “You know, in ‘Frankenstein’,” Matthew finally says, “the monster talks about love and hate: ‘if I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.’”

“You’ve read it too?” Lucie exclaims. “I _knew_ I wasn’t the only one who–”

“What?” he looks baffled by her sudden outburst, “No, my dad and I watched the movie– anyway, that’s not the point. I thought that if James didn’t want to be my friend, I would show him that everybody else did; that it was his loss and not mine.” Matthew glances back to his feet, “Though, now that I think of it, it does seem like a lousy move.”

If this is the real reason, Lucie thinks, then boys are unbelievably dumb. She also thinks that it sounds too simple to be true; that nothing in life solves this easily; that there must be a catch to his words. But maybe there isn’t, maybe _it is_ that easy.

Maybe she doesn’t have to hate him.

Lucie prides herself on being able to understand other people, their motives and intentions, but Matthew remains a closed book to her. She doesn’t know what he thinks or feels, and that makes her wary. For a moment Lucie wants to say something hurtful and offensive, strike Matthew before he will be the one with the power to belittle her — because it’s the easier choice; because in this scenario her heart is out of danger of being scorched and trampled upon.

And yet her mum says that the bravest thing you can do is to give another person a second chance with no knowledge about how that will end, and this time she is ready to take a leap of faith. Something in Lucie whispers that he is worth it.

“Matthew,” she hesitantly starts, “thank you for telling me this and… thank you for earlier, it was nice of you to say that. And I’m sorry for…” Lucie lifts her palm in the air, pointing to her head, “you know.”

“Oh, you mean for making my pretty face not so pretty, yeah? Don’t worry there aren’t many things that can make me look bad.” he says and Lucie snorts. _Some things never change._ “I’m really sorry for offending you. Now I think we can agree that girls are more brutal than guys — my nose is a living witness.”

They don’t talk after that, but Lucie’s fine with it — their quiet doesn’t feel like a silence to her, but endless possibilities and a newfound understanding between two people.

***

In the end, they don’t even get detention because it’s the first time both of them violate the rules. (It may also be due to the fact that Mr. Bridgestock is afraid of the prime minister, but one doesn’t complain about miracles and she isn’t going to start now.)

When they are finally leaving after one more scolding from their parents, Charlotte clutches Matthew’s hand in a strong grip, but he stops in front of her before going his way.

“I will never underestimate you again, Lucie Herondale,” Matthew says, looking her in the eye, — and Lucie thinks that it sounds like the beginning of something beautiful.

***

On the following day she sees James and Matthew laughing together like long-lost brothers and a little smirk grazes her lips. _Boys are indeed idiots,_ Lucie notes, walking into her classroom.

Matthew sits with her at lunch that day, and every day for the remaining year, sometimes alone, sometimes with three boys trailing after him, and she doesn’t mind this novelty. They talk about everything, surprisingly having a lot in common, but mostly Lucie berates him on his preference of movies to books.

_(“I’m just fascinated by the acting and portrayal of emotions! That’s it! It’s not like I’m degrading your beloved authors,” argues Matthew._

_“Your excuses sound like a big pile of bull–”_

_“Lucie!” interrupts James, horrified.)_

Matthew loses his adoring crowd, in turn spending all his breaks with the four of them, and she can’t help grinning a little, remembering Thomas’s relief-stricken face at this news and his recounting of every single time he nearly died of embarrassment and nerves when asked a question by a stranger. He also wants Matthew to promise that his bluster ends from this day on, and the blond boy fleetingly glances at her before answering that it won’t be a problem anymore.

***

_Many years later, whenever she thinks about their blossoming friendship, Lucie can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Matthew becomes an inseparable part of her life. Maybe after all, it doesn’t even matter that she remembers only a little of what happened — she knows that it was the year when they became best friends and that is what counts._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! My tumblr is @abigneignenn<3


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